


The Snake Will Bite Its Tail

by demonsonthemoon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:26:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3046712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsonthemoon/pseuds/demonsonthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan gets hit on at a poetry slam.<br/>He panicks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for anastasiapullingteeth's prompt "Jehan/Grantaire + fake dating AU".  
> Someone needs to teach me how tropes work.

As Jehan stepped off the stage, he could feel sweat pooling behind his neck and making the hair there stick uncomfortably. Still, he was smiling.

Tonight hadn't been his best performance, but the clapping afterwards had still felt genuine and enthusiastic enough. He walked towards the bar on one side of the room, taking a stool there and ordering a coktail to sip at while he watched the other performers.

The bar's open slam night was the best he had ever been too, with a growing number of followers and performers, some experienced and some pure newbies. Most nights, there was no competition here, just a small wooden stage and an old standing mic, a way to let your words echo in the ears of a real audience.

He sat on his own for a minute, watching as a new performer walked on stage, a girl that was probably a few years younger than him, dressed in a blue dress paired with blue ribbons in her hair. Then another girl took the stool on his right and tapped his shoulder.

Jehan was a bit disappointed to have to turn away from the stage, but at the same time he didn't want to be rude.

"Yes?"

"Heeey," the girl said, playing with a strand of her dark hair. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to tell you that I really loved your performance. Like, I really felt something, and you have a great presence on stage. I really love your style!"

"Oh, huh," Jehan could feel himself blush. "Thanks. That's really sweet of you to say."

"I'm Linda. It's actually the first time I come here."

"Oh? Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. I'm Jehan. Did you ever go to other slam poetry events?"

She shaked her head. "No. I wasn't even sure I would like it, but a friend kept talking about it, so... Do you come here often?"

Jehan nodded. "I try to perform at least once a month, sometimes more if I've got enough new material."

"That's so cool! I mean, I would be totally unable to write things like that, I've never really been the creative type."

"I'm sure that's not true! If you truly want to, I'm sure you could be great too."

Linda smiled, slightly moving on her barstool so that her leg would brush against Jehan's. "That's truly the sweetest thing you could say."

He smiled, though he felt slightly uncomfortable, and took a new sip of his drink. Turning a little towards the stage, he noticed that he had missed all of the girl in the blue dress' performance.

For a while, he continued to chat with his dark-haired new so-called "fan", finishing his drink as soon as possible. Then, he quickly excused himself, saying he had to go and meet up with a friend.

The girl pouted as he left, but let him go nonetheless, and Jehan sighed in relief as he reached the street.

He didn't talk about the encounter to anyone, and himself forgot about it after a while. He spent the next two weeks working on an English Literature project, and thus only went back to the café that held the weekly poetry slams three weeks later.

The person that stepped on stage just before him had short blue hair and a smile that was contagious as they talked about first meetings, heartbeats accelarating and puzzle pieces falling into place to form a picture nothing like what the box advertised. He clapped loudly, enamored with the passion of the performer.

Then it was his turn to go. His name was called and he walked onto the stage, adjusting the mic to his height, than closing his eyes to take a deep breath.

_"I followed a road with nowhere to go,_   
_Finding myself screaming to faceless owls and seers,_   
_My heart beating to the rhythm of a loneliness_   
_Born from too much human breathlessness."_

The words fell into place on his tongue as they had not done when he had put them on paper. For the few minutes it took him to finish the poem, he wasn't himself anymore. He was a mythical wanderer deciphering the symbols of the night, discovering his own memories under the everlasting night-sky of a city filled with smoke.

He let his eyelides fall closed at the last words of the poem, and smiled as people started clapping, jumping off the stage and going back to the seat he had taken at the bar. He had just ordered a fruit beer when familiar dark hair entered his field of vision.

Linda smiled at him expectantly as he turned to face her.

"Hi. Linda, wasn't it?"

The young woman nodded. "Yeah. I'm so glad you're here again, Jean. I came every week since last time, I didn't want to miss any of your performances!"

Jehan forced a smile. "Thank you. That's... that's very nice of you."

"It's true. I sat here every single week. I was really disappointed the first time, but I think it was worth it. I really liked your poem today too."

"It's really nice to hear. I wasn't sure if people would really be able to connect with this one."

"I really liked it."

Jehan nodded, and Linda put one of her hand on the counter, as if she was waiting for him to take it.

He fished out his phone from his pocket and started typing out a text.

"What are you doing?" Linda asked softly.

Jehan quickly looked up, feeling kind of guilty. He ran a hand down the length of his hair.

"Nothing. Just... Someone was supposed to join me here, but I don't see them anywhere, so I wanted to make sure they're okay."

Linda frowned for a second, then shrugged and smiled again. She had a nice smile, and Jehan would have loved being able to appreciate it more. As it was, it only made him grow more uneasy.

"A friend of yours, then?"

Jehan panicked. On the one hand, he hated lying. On the other hand, he hated making people suffer. Did he want Linda to leave him alone despite her blatant interest in him? Yes. Did he intend to break her heart after having lead her on for too long? No. Did he feel like he could physically tell her right away that he wasn't interested without himself bursting into tears? Categorical no.

So he made something up anyway.

"My boyfriend, actually," he said in one go, looking down at the screen of his cell-phone. "We're supposed to head out somewhere else later in the evening."

He looked up slightly, then immediately went back to his text. The girl seemed shocked, and hurt. When she started talking once more, however, she seemed angry more than anything. She tried to disguise it, but Jehan could feel it seep through her every word.

"You... you have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah," replied Jehan quickly. "We've been dating for a bit more than a month now?"

"I... didn't know that."

Jehan finally hit "send", and looked up with as genuine a smile as he could muster. The text read as follows:

_"Hey, R! I hope you don't have anything planned, because I just told a girl that you're my boyfriend so she would back off, and you're supposed to join me at the poetry slam right now._

_Please save me. I'll do anything to repay you, I swear._

_Jehan."_

He knew that it didn't explain much, but Grantaire was a smart guy. He would figure it out. Hopefully.

"So... you have a boyfriend."

"Mmh-mmh." Jehan started to run a hand through his hair self-consciously. Linda didn't seem as angry as disappointed now, though he was relieved that she didn't seem to hold it against him. "He's actually an artist too! Except he likes to draw and paint, more than write. And he's not doing it professionally or anything. I mean, it's more of a hobby. He actually works in computer science."

Linda nodded, and for once it was the silence that made Jehan uncomfortable. A woman was speaking on stage, in a calm voice that made Jehan think of his kindergarten teacher, when she would read stories to the class.  
« I didn't know you had a boyfriend. »

Jehan let out a short forced laugh. « Well, yeah. It's not really written on my forehead, is it ? I mean, we're not engaged or anything, so I wouldn't have a ring and... » He was running out of things to say.  
Thankfully, the cellphone he still had in his hand vibrated, and he quickly opened Grantaire's reply.  
  
 _« What the fuck ?????_  
 _I'll be there in five minutes._  
 _\- R. »_

Jehan sighed in relief, nervously putting a strand of hair behind one of his ears. He typed out a new text.

_« I panicked. Just pretend you were stuck in traffic. And very in love with me. »_  
  
He looked back up at Linda, who was now looking down at the bar counter. Jehan felt kind of bad about lying to her this way. She hadn't meant any harm. Most probably, she would have let him go easily if he had clearly stated his disinterest. But Jehan couldn't help feeling like she might have not, and that this was easier.

« He should be here in about five minutes. »

Linda nodded, playing with a strand of her long hair and eyeing the bottles that were lined up behind the bar. « So, you two. It's like... serious ? »

« What do you mean ? » Jehan asked, while politely clapping as the last performer stepped off the stage.

« Do you love him ? »

Jehan felt himself blush. He looked down at his hands, intertwined in front of him. « Do I love him ? I... » He didn't know what to say. Maybe he was thinking about this too much. Maybe he should tell the truth. At least part of it. « I don't know. He's great. He's interesting, and honest. Sometimes to the point of seeming aggressive, but that's just a way to hide that he cares a lot. He makes me laugh and... I feel like I can be myself around him. That I can always be myself, without pretending, without hiding. »

« So you love him. »

Jehan kept silent for a while. He didn't really know where the truth stopped and where the lie started anymore. After a few seconds, he concluded : « Maybe I do. »

Jehan's phone vibrated again and he picked it up.

_« I'm here._  
 _\- R. »_

He looked around, half-standing up to be able to see over other people's head. Sure enough, someone with curled, dark hair had just come in and was fighting with the door that wouldn't close correctly. The other man took a step forward and Jehan waved at him.

As Grantaire reached his seat by the bar, Jehan put an arm around his shoulder and pecked him on the cheeks. Hopefully, Linda wouldn't have noticed that he had been shaking while doing it, totally unsure of his behaviour. Grantaire wasn't aversed to physical contact, and he didn't have a lot of personal boundaries in general, but it still didn't excuse the fact that Jehan had basically forced this whole thing onto him out of the blue.

Grantaire, however, didn't even frown. He threw the brightest smile he owned in his collection and even leaned into Jehan's touch. Then he turned towards Linda and held out a hand.

« Hi. I'm Grantaire. »

Linda shook it carefully, looking at the two of them. « Linda. »

« Nice to meet you, Linda. Do you want to take a drink with us ? We can probably stay here for a while, can't we ?, » he added as he turned towards Jehan.

The young poet was going to ask him about secret drama classes, because Grantaire looked way too comfortable. « Yeah, I mean, people will be probably only be arriving at the party at 11. »

« Oh, yeah, the party. Almost forgot. Damn traffic pissed me off so much, I'll forget my head next. So, Linda, what do you say ? »

The young woman shaked her head, an air of unbelief etched across her features. « Thanks. I... I think I'll pass. Have fun. » She stood up.

« Really ? », asked Grantaire, leaning even more against Jehan so he could snatch his drink and take a sip of it. He frowned and put it back down. « Well, too bad. It was nice meeting you. »

Linda nodded quickly, then moved away, without even saying a word to Jehan. The young man stared after her, than at Grantaire.

His friend shrugged. « What ? »

« You... » Jehan started. « You are actually very good at this. »

Grantaire smirked and sat down at the bar, ordering a beer as soon as he could get the bartender's attention. Then he turned back to Jehan.

Their knees were brushing against one another, but Jehan couldn't tell if it was on purpose from Grantaire's part, or just the casualness they were used to. He had never analysed his own boundaries too closely, and, now that he was much forced too, he realised with surprise that, when it came to Grantaire, they were pretty much inexistant.

« But seriously, dude. What was that ? »

Jehan blushed, which gave Grantaire enough time to pay for his drink.

« I told you. I panicked. I... I didn't know how to tell her that I wasn't interested without it being hurtful, and I wasn't thinking and... » He flailed a little, almost falling off his stool. Grantaire quickly put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Jehan stared at it. He knew it shouldn't feel weird, that he and Grantaire had that kind of contact all the time. But everything in that moment felt heightened, the weight against his shoulder heavier than it had any right to be.

« Hey, there, kitten. No need to knock yourself out by falling on the ground now that the scary lady is gone. » Grantaire dropped his hand and took a sip of his beer.

They both turned as the sound of footsteps echoed from the stage. As the evening had gone on, fewer and fewer people had taken their turn to perform, but it still happened that some people arrived late and wanted to give the stage a go. The young man was tall and skinny, with ginger hair and freckles all over his face. Both Grantaire and Jehan listened to him attentively as he started reciting.

« That was cute, » said Grantaire. « Sickening, but cute. »

Jehan turned towards him and immediately started laughing. The dark-haired man had scrunched up his face and was frowning as if trying to decide if optimism and second-hand romance were actually things that could kill you. Jehan rubbed the edge of his right eye. « That probably sums is up, yeah. »

There was silence for a while, as they both looked at the now empty stage.

« Couldn't you perform something ? »

Jehan raised an eyebrow. « Me ? » he asked. « I already did. »

« Yeah, but I wasn't there. And you could do another poem. You must have more than one memorized. »

He did, of course he did, but his mind suddenly felt blank. He noticed that he had actually never performed in front of Grantaire. He had let him read some of his stuff, of course, but it wasn't the same.

« I've read some of your poems, but never actually seen you on stage. It's an occasion ! »

« I... » There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't sound suspicious. And why was he looking for excuses anyway ? Like he had said to Linda, if there was one person who would understand his poetry and not judge him, it was Grantaire. « Sure. Let me just warn the techs. »

He stood up, and went to the small table that was always next to the stage during slam nights, where people could request to be added to the list of participants. The place sometimes organised contests, during which each poet could only perform once and had to pay an entry fee, but the open mic nights were free to whoevery wanted, however many times they wanted it.  
  
Jehan told the employee he wanted to go again, and the young person smiled at him. They knew each other by names now, so his inscription was quickly filled out and they let him step onto the stage with a flourish of the arm, announcing him on the mic.

Standing straight in front of the whole room, Jehan felt his nervousness rise again. He was painfully aware of Grantaire's gaze on him, but tried not to let his own eyes be drawn in that particular direction. With a knot in his stomach, he noticed that Linda was still in the room, though on the opposite side from Grantaire. She was watching him.

He stared straight ahead and started.  
  
«  _Imaginary walker,_  
 _I made my way trough paths well-traveled,_  
 _Taking in the sights of others,_  
 _Endlessly breathing the same air_  
 _That had been poisoning me since birth._

_I talked of love with them,_  
 _And of blue seas and bluer skies._

_Through the opiate smoke they laughed :_   
_You talk of innocence, young boy._   
_Come sit with us_   
_Before your two shoes fell apart._

_Me who thought I was wearing none,_   
_Looked down at two plain leather shoes,_   
_Painted with dirt and memories._

_I kept walking. »_

He had written the poem a few months before already, a poem about hypocrisy and self-doubt, about dreams being crushed and innocence desecrated. He remembered writing it one evening, after talking about their childhood with Grantaire.

_« I just find it so disgusting when adults start mocking their children for having unrealistic dreams. It's like, until you're 8 years old everything is princesses and sunshine and firemen or space-crafts, and then you reach your tenth birhday and your_ own parents _are the first to lock all of that up. »_

_« And you're left staring at walls you don't remember. »_

_« Yeah. Exactly. And then people tell you to stop being pessimistic and to believe in yourself, and you're left pointing at a blank wall that they can't even see. I hate it. »  
_

_« I remembered the smoke,_   
_The unworn shoes,_   
_The blue-skies-sometimes-palm-trees._

_I remembered laughter_   
_And echoes of voices,_   
_And suddenly the cave felt cold._

_And I shivered, and I shivered,_  
 _Until a long-lost voice called me,_

___Saying : the cave is a tunnel_  
 _And the voice you hear is the sea,_  
 _So run and fall and get back up_

_Until you catch a dream. »_

Jehan was breathless. He let the hand that had made its way to his hair fall back down and started breathing more slowly. He had gonne through the last stanza almost without any air. For a while, he didn't register the applause, or that he still hadn't moved. He stepped off the stage, smiling at Chris, the green-haired employee that had taken his registration.

He approached Grantaire at the bar.

The young man was smiling brightly and clapped him on the shoulder.

« That was great, man ! Seriously, well done. »

Jehan smiled shyly, and took the beer that Grantaire was pushing in his direction, thankful for the sensation of liquid in his sore throat.

When he looked back up at Grantaire, he found him closer than he had expected.

« Can I do something ? » the dark-haired man asked.

Jehan swallowed his saliva and nodded quickly. From this short a distance, he could see the flecks of green in Grantaire's eyes, along with the small scar next to his right eyebrow.

Grantaire put a hand on the side of Jehan's face and stood up, right in front of him. He leaned forward, breath warm against the poet's skin.

His voice was a whisper.

«From where that Linda girl is sitting, this is going to look a hell-of-a-lot like a kiss. »

Jehan dropped his beer, which fell on the bar counter with a loud noise, but thankfully without spilling. Grantaire smirked and sat back down.

Jehan still couldn't breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear Caro - anastasiapullingteeth - was frustrated with the ending of the first part.  
> So here is one more chapter, as a late birthday gift to her!

"But why do you even need me there? Don't you think last week's show was enough to push her away?"

Grantaire's glasses were nearly falling off his nose as he peered at Jehan. He pushed them back up and closed his laptop, changing his position on the couch so that his friend would be able to sit down next to him.

"I think so, but I'm not sure. That's why I want you there. Then she won't have any hope left for me to crush."

Grantaire didn't think it would be a good idea to point out that the reason for that was that her hopes would already have been crushed by him of all people.

"So that's why you came by, right? So you could bully me into this?"

Jehan playfully punched his shoulder.

"As if. I came here because you have cookies and I don't." He dropped his hand and put it in his lap. "Besides, you said you liked it last time. So can't you just come one more time? I'll even pay for your drinks, if you want."

Grantaire put a finger to his lips as if he was thinking about it. He already knew he would go. It seemed to mean something to Jehan, and that was reason enough for him.

"Fine. I just want to read through that code once again, and then I'll be yours for the evening."

He felt Jehan tense up beside him, but didn't pay too much attention to it. The kid was probably just nervous because of that fan of his. Grantaire opened his laptop again, and settled himself against the cushion of his couch to check the progress he had made. There wasn't time to try and run the programm, not if Jehan wanted to be there when the open mic was kicked off.

Jehan got up at one point, then came back with half a cookie in his hand. Grantaire could feel he was getting restless.

"Done," he said as he saved his progress and turned off his computer.

Jehan beamed at him, scratching his neck where is short-cut hair ended. He was wearing jeans overalls above a red long-sleeved shirt, and got up to put his red boots back on. He even went to the trouble of handing Grantaire his jacket, gesture to which the dark-haired man replied by rolling his eyes.

They took the bus to the bar, standing between a mother with a buggy and a middle-aged man hooked to his cellphone. Grantaire thought he had seen him playing Angry Birds, but he wasn't sure. Beside him, Jehan was talking about his classes, and Grantaire noticed that he would run a hand through his hair every few minutes, as if he were nervous. The artist frowned, but didn't say anything.

The bar employees had just finished setting up the mic when they entered the bar. There were a few people sitting at the counter already, so Jehan and Grantaire sat down at a small table next to the wall, only one or two meters away from the stage. Grantaire dropped his jacket, then went to the bar to get the both of them a drink. Jehan had his eyes fixed on the stage when he came back. His friend snapped his fingers in front of his face, making him jump.

"Are you going on stage today?"

Jehan shook his head. "I didn't have the time to prepare anything. I'm just here to watch and listen, this time."

Grantaire nodded and took a sip of his beer. He wasn't going to admit that he was a bit disappointed. He might know nothing about poetry, but he was certain that it wasn't only his friendship that made him think Jehan was really good at it. He had a certain attitude on stage, a contained fluidity, that made his words shine and echo like music. Or at least it had felt that way last time.

He took another gulp of cold liquid.

A few people were queuing up to get their turn on stage, and Jehan took the time to scan the room. Grantaire immediately noticed it. He could tell from the tension in the young man's shoulder that he was expecting Linda to be here. He didn't really understand why his friend had such a problem with the girl. She seemed a little pushy, sure, but nice and polite enough. It wasn't Grantaire's place to judge, though, and if Jehan needed him there, he would be there. He always would.

A young man stepped on the stage and started his poem. Jehan immediately turned his face towards him to watch.

They both stayed seated like this for a while, Grantaire with his chair half-turned so that he could see the performers, and Jehan with his attention fixed on the microphone. At one point, Jehan stood up, took his chair and came to sit down next to Grantaire. The artist looked back at his friend and was faced with a determined expression. He didn't ask.

A girl stepped on stage, with brown hair that reached her lower back and high heels that made Grantaire shiver.

"You look at me and I feel cold.  
Your gaze runs down my skin in poisonous caresses,  
Raising goosebumps  
Covered in invisible blood.

It is not a compliment."

Grantaire was close enough to touch Jehan's knee. He couldn't miss the shiver that shook the poet's body. He extended his leg, carefully touching the side of Jehan's foot with his. Jehan looked down quickly. He stared at their touching shoes for a while.

Moving his chair closer to Grantaire's, Jehan leaned against him. Grantaire skipped a breath, but didn't move as his friend lay his head on his shoulder. He looked down at the poet, who was still staring at the stage, though his cheeks appeared redder than Grantaire remembered them.

When applause errupted in the room, it took Grantaire by surprise. He hadn't listened to a word of what had been said on stage, and felt embarrassed for it. He still clapped politely, which was awkward, what with Jehan still lying against him.

They listened and watched together for another half hour or so, sometimes making comments, sometimes not. Grantaire noticed that Jehan tended to close his eyes during some of the poems, usually ones he liked. When he did that, his face softened, and it seemed way too easy to just reach out and trace his features with a finger. His skin was pale, bathed in the light of the stage, and Grantaire felt almost afraid that his hypothetical caresses would leave a bruise.

Jehan opened his eyes and caught him staring. Grantaire's instinct was to turn away, but something in the young man's eyes held him there. The brown of his irises looked darker in this light. Grantaire licked his lips. His throat suddenly felt dry. Jehan was still looking at him and frowned, just slightly.

Grantaire had no idea what was going on. His thoughts were racing. He remembered what had happened the week before, how he had stood up and leaned into Jehan's personal space, how close they had been. It had felt natural in the moment, it hadn't felt like anything much. They were just as close to each other right now. Was it the same type of closeness? He couldn't tell.

He tried to focus on what the person on stage was saying, but the words wouldn't imprint themselves on his brain, instead flowing from one ear to the next.

Jehan raised his head from Grantaire's shoulder. They didn't break eye-contact. It was like something was holding Grantaire's gaze in place, forbidding him to even try looking away.

"Can I do something?", Jehan whispered.

Grantaire knew that, if they hadn't been sitting that close together, he would never have heard it. But the words echoed in his head.

"Can I do something?", he had said the previous week. How cocky of him. He had never said what his plan was, had just put his trust into the idea that Jehan trusted him. He swallowed slowly, carefully. What did Jehan want? What was he going to do? What was there for him to do here? A teacher had once told Grantaire that his thought process was too jumbled. He tried to put himself in the state of mind he used when working on a programm. Logical steps. Start from the beginning, one step at a time, find the logic.

He couldn't.

So he nodded.

And when Jehan brought his face closer, he thought oh, because the logic had been there all along, except he hadn't seen it.

Their lips touched, softly, and Grantaire didn't move. Both of them still had their eyes open.

Jehan backed away, slowly. He's giving me a choice, Grantaire realised. Like I didn't do for him. The only thing that came to his mind was yes, so he followed the impulse and reached for Jehan's lips again, kissing him properly, this time.

Their lips had barely touched again that Jehan had put a hand in Grantaire's curls, keeping him close. The artist wasn't complaining, far from that. He felt a slight pain in his lower lip as Jehan bit down on it, and opened his mouth, deepening the kiss again.

Applause errupted around them and the pair broke away from each other. It felt like being caught kissing at a New Year's firework. Grantaire could feel the blush on his cheeks and ran a hand through his hair. He looked up at Jehan.

The poet was biting his lips reddened by their kiss, and looking up at him with sparks in his eyes. Grantaire felt his stomach twist.

« How many stalkers were we supposed to drive away with that ? », he asked. The joke felt empty, but it was his only defense. He had learned, he was offering Jehan a way out.

Jehan smiled, suddenly shy. His cheeks took on a darker color as he slowly enunciated « All of them ? »


End file.
